


чернила на моей душе (The Ink On My Soul)

by CaptainAmelia22



Series: Tumblr Drabble [7]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Russian Prison Tattoos, Vaguely Pre-USSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/CaptainAmelia22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He returns from the prison with more than scars on his skin.  The ink clings to him and she touches them, hoping to understand the story behind their stark lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	чернила на моей душе (The Ink On My Soul)

**Author's Note:**

> So I started working on this story months ago and as always seems to happen it fell by the wayside until last night. 
> 
> I was trolling tumblr after work and came across one of weinersoldier's posts and I mentioned that I had a story kind of similar to what she wanted and things kind of...exploded. 
> 
> I tacked on an ending, did some minor editing and tried to not cry. 
> 
> It's unbeta'd (sorry-I should know better) so any mistakes are mine.

"Tell me what this one means, moy medved," she asks one night as they lay tangled together in his bed and with the moon shining down around them.

Her tiny fingers stroke the star on his shoulder, the black five pointed star with its outline of red and despite the scarring it covers, he can feel her touch and he shivers.  

"Do not ask me things you do not want to know the answer to, moya roza," he mutters, his eyes closed to her.  

She smiles at the standard response, one she has grown used to since his emergence from the Tzar’s prison and she kisses the black star so gently.  ”James,  _please_ ,” she whispers as she twines her body deeper into his and runs her fingers firmly up his chest, his arms, his neck.  ” _Tell me.”_

He shifts as her fingers press into the swallow carved onto his sternum-it’s the oldest of his tattoos and the one that bears the most pain.  She presses into it unheedingly and he wonders as her tongue runs over his chest, over his nipple, if she would even understand half of the markings on his body.  

"It represents my strength," he murmurs begrudgingly as she continues to touch and kiss his body.  His eyes remain closed but he cannot stop the rest of his body from responding to her closeness.  To that tongue, which continues to wash over his skin.  

"Your strength for what?" she asks, her voice husky as she catches sight of how truly caught up in her inspection he is.  

His eyes open finally and they are shadowed once more-shadowed like the day he was finally released back to her.  

She stills as he watches her for a long moment, his bearded jaw clenched against the memories she can see just behind his gaze and her fingers tense against the grinning skulls resting in the hollows of his shoulders.  

She waits-waits with baited breath as he considers what he should tell her-and finally he sighs.  

"Oh Natalia," he murmurs as he strokes her cheek with the back of his knuckles, which are tattooed as well, each with a series of dots and much faded crosses.  "If I told you, I would have to kill you."  

He kisses her gently then, his fingers tight on her chin and she can’t help but think as his teeth nip at her bottom lip and he shifts so she is spread across his body, that he does not joke.  

"Moy medved," she whispers as his hands press into her hips and she trails kisses down his throat.  "I would kill you first." 

A shocked laugh bursts from his lips at that, the first she has heard since he was set free of the Tzar’s hellish gulag, and a small smile flashes across her lips as he clasps her face between his palms.  

His palms are the only bare part of him-his skin is pale, clean, bare of any sort of ink or scarring-and she presses a tender kiss to each as he laughs.  

"Oy moya dorogaya chernaya vdova,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead to hers.  ”I missed you when I was in Hell.”

She smiles at that and closes her eyes.  ”As you should, soldat.  As you should.”  

They fall silent after that, only the moonlight a witness to their kisses and the way her fingers toy with the ink on his body. 

And for once, for once, their time together is good.  

They cherish it.

Cherish each other.  

The Black Widow and her Winter Soldier.  


End file.
